PENETRATE (The Portals of Time Book 1)

by Jackie Ivie

  That had endeared her to him even more.

  So, Neal had turned around, listened to her splashing, and when she said so, he swiveled to see her engulfed in one of his robes. He’d even managed not to snicker. She’d still worn it when he’d carried her through the connecting door to her room. It wasn’t a hardship. His heart had been full to bursting with each step, and felt even more so by the way she’d nuzzled her nose against his throat. She hadn’t awakened, even as he settled her into the center of her bed and tucked her in. He couldn’t resist placing a kiss on her forehead.

  And then he’d sprinted for his room, retrieved her clothing so it could be in her chamber. Piled it atop the chaise. Returned to his room. Rung for Mason. Neal didn’t really need the valet to assist. But he realized he liked seeing him. And things he used to consider a time waste had changed. He hadn’t looked at why too closely. He could guess. Being in love with Ainslee altered all kinds of things. But by the time Neal had reached the small dining room and the array of breakfast items, he was thoroughly ready to put a dent in the amount of food on display.

  “This here is a blunderbuss, yer grace. Yer familiar with it. Or, so ye said.”

  Cedric brought Neal’s attention back to the present with a jolt. The man had a slightly caustic edge to every comment. Neal looked across to Cedric and the thirty-inch long gun he held. The man had another gun slung over his shoulder. The gamekeeper standing behind Cedric carried another one. The blunderbuss resembled a sawed-off shotgun. The end of the barrel had been flared like a trumpet. Supposedly this was to scatter shot in a wider area to make a better kill ratio. But that hadn’t been proven. There were blunderbusses in the Straithmore Collection, but Neal had rarely handled one, and never fired it. He probably could have, but he wasn’t that interested.

  What interested him was nailing a target with a thirty-thirty at a hundred yards without a scope. That gave him great satisfaction. Almost as much as hitting a bulls-eye with a Lapua 338 sniper rifle from a distance of one mile, or a Barrett 50 Cal at two miles.

  And these gamekeepers had set out ten bird decoys at about twenty feet away.

  Twenty feet.

  Neal had to turn aside before they caught his expression. Hell, if he missed at this distance, he could always throw the blunderbuss and hit something.

  “Ye payin’ attention this time?”

  “Uh. Yeah.” Neal nodded.

  “Good. This here is a paper patch bullet.”

  Holy shit.

  “Let me see that.”

  Cedric handed it over. Neal tested it for weight. Looked it over. It had a waxy feel. There had been replicas in the Straithmore Collection, but despite researching antiquities markets, he’d never found an actual paper bullet from pre-Civil War era.

  “What’s it loaded with?”

  “A measure o’ gunpowder. Some small shot.”

  “And the seal?”

  “These here are lard. We like them more than the beeswax ones.”

  “Pork?”

  “Aye. Makes it a bit more pleasant when you bite it open.”

  Neal nodded. Handed the bullet back. Cedric looked him over without expression.

  “What is it?” Neal asked.

  “Yer a bit different today.”

  “Than...I was...before?” Neal asked it as a leading question.

  “Aye.”

  “You were there?”

  “You do na’ even remember?”

  “I suffered a fall the other day. Hurt my head. Lost a bit of. Memory.”

  Neal lifted the hair at his temple. By now, it should be a nice purplish and green hue. And he hadn’t even thought of it for days now. Odd.

  “Well. At least this morn, yer sober.”

  Neal nodded. No wonder his gamekeeper was annoyed. Firearms and alcohol were a poor mix.

  “Man. Was I a twit,” he muttered.

  Cedric gave him another long, measured look. Neal held the gaze. Cedric finally nodded and returned to his lecture.

  “This is a hammer. It has two cocking mechanisms. Half-way is to lock it for loading. Fully back to fire. We’re taking this to half-cocked.”

  ...half-cocked.

  Neal fought a grin as the explanation for that expression was demonstrated for him. He didn’t dare show amusement. Not to the man who thought he handled guns while drunk.

  “Got it,” he finally answered.

  “Now. This here’s the firing pan.”

  Neal stepped closer. The man lifted a little lid beneath the trigger.

  “You bite the end of yer paper bullet open and pour a bit in the firing pan. Like so.”

  Cedric bit the end of the bullet open and tapped about a half teaspoon into the pan. Neal nodded.

  “Set the lid down gentle-like. Then, ye tip the gun barrel up and empty the rest of yer paper patch into it.”

  “Containing the gunpowder and lead shot pellets.”

  “Aye. Drop the paper down next. Then you take up the rod....like this. And ram the load into a nice solid mass.”

  Cedric pulled out a metal rod that had been in brackets along the bottom of the barrel. He shoved it down the gun and started tamping the mix. He then removed the rod and slid it back into its holder. He’d glanced occasionally at what he was doing, but for the most part, kept his attention on Neal. Neal returned the favor.

  “Now you are ready to shoot. You need me to demonstrate, yer grace?”

  “Nah. I think I’ll just have a go at it.”

  Cedric held out the gun, keeping the barrel pointing up. Neal took it, pressed it to his shoulder. Brought it to bear as he turned a half-turn to the left, and fired. It wasn’t as loud as he’d expected. Nor was there a lot of recoil. There was a bit of white smoke. But before it had dissipated, his success was clear by the others’ reaction. All ten of the decoys had fallen.

  “Good shot!” One of the other men exclaimed.

  Neal looked over at Cedric. The man was giving him another level look. Pretty expressionless.

  “Word is ye’ve changed.”

  “God, I hope so,” Neal replied.

  A ghost of a smile lifted the man’s lips. It disappeared almost instantly. The man slid the spare blunderbuss off his shoulder. “Let me ready another round fer ye.”

  Neal held out the used gun. “Let me do it this time.”

  “Ye certain-sure ye ken what to do?”

  “Why don’t you watch? And...I think we could move my targets out a bit farther.”

  “Lads? Take them another ten feet!”

  “Oh. Come on, Cedric. Give me something difficult. Let’s try twenty more.”

  “Twenty feet?”

  “What’s the range of these guns?”

  “With accuracy?”

  “I don’t shoot if I’m not going to hit a target,” Neal replied.

  “Forty. Forty-two feet.”

  “All right. Let’s do forty.”

  “Take the decoys out another twenty feet, lads!”

  Neal exchanged guns with Cedric. Waited for the man to hand him a paper patch bullet from his bag. Neal put it between his teeth and tore. Wasn’t bad tasting. Had a bit of bacon flavor to it. He pulled the trigger to half-cocked until it locked. Lifted the lid of the firing pan. Tapped out a bit of gunpowder. Lowered the lid. Turned the gun, stock down, and finished loading. He pulled the rod out and tamped his load. Replaced the rod. Other than a couple of glances he didn’t look at what he was doing. He kept his gaze on Cedric. The man raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment.

  “We ready?” Neal asked.

  “Aye!”

  One of the other men answered. Neal put the gun to his shoulder, turned, and immediately lifted the barrel back up as a stag shot through the high grass just beyond the decoys. Beside him he heard Cedric’s whistle. And that was a very satisfying feeling. He waited for the deer to disappear. Lowered the barrel and fired.

  All ten decoys fell over.

  The other two men cheered. Cedric nodded.

 
; “Yer aim...has definitely improved, yer grace.”

  “Yeah. I know. Came along with that change everyone is talking about. Take them out to forty-five feet.”

  “Forty-five?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Lads! Another five feet.”

  The other two men ran for the duck decoys. Neal waited while Cedric reloaded the first gun he’d used. Neither of them spoke. He had a slight breeze coming from his right. There wouldn’t be a lot of momentum behind the shots, if he could even get them out that far. He’d have to angle the gun to the right and up about ten degrees.

  “We ready?” he asked.

  “Lads?”

  “Ready!”

  Neal turned and fired. He didn’t have to wait for the cloud to clear to know the results. The whoops from the other two gave him the answer. He lowered the gun, and looked over at Cedric.

  “Too bad my cousin Garrick isn’t here again,” Neal remarked.

  “Again?”

  “You mean, he wasn’t here when we went shooting...before?”

  “Nae.”

  “Where was he?”

  “I do na’ ken. It was na’ my turn to watch him.”

  Whoa.

  Neal sent a sharp glance toward the man. One thing was instantly apparent. He didn’t radiate disgust anymore. Neal’s brain clicked with thought processes. He could almost feel it. Cedric’s reply meant one of two things. Either he wasn’t the type to speak of others and he was giving Neal notice of that, or some of them did watch for Garrick and it truly hadn’t been his turn.

  “Were you three accompanying me?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then which one of you has the big mouth?”

  Neal narrowed his eyes, looked down at the man, and waited. It was his turn to be antagonistic. Height was a definite advantage in situations like this. He’d used it more than once. Cedric didn’t shift his gaze, however.

  “I do na’ catch yer meaning.”

  “Well. Garrick has the same opinion of my shooting as you had. He thinks I’m a piss-poor shot. He got that from somewhere.”

  “Probably his brother.”

  “Who?”

  “Lachlan.”

  “Lachlan?”

  “That’s who was out here with you last time, yer grace.”

  “Oh. Hell. I forgot about him.”

  “Ye forgot yer own cousin?”

  “It’s not hard. I mean...you’ve met my aunt, Lady Blair, haven’t you?”

  “Aye.”

  “Well. It’s bad enough knowing her husband had sex with her once. That would be Garrick. But. Damn. Lord Blair must have been blind. Deaf. And mute.”

  “Yer grace?”

  “Think about it, Cedric. The man had sex with my aunt more than once. That thought alone is enough to ruin sup.”

  Cedric regarded him for an instant, and then the man put his head back, and roared with laughter. That’s when Neal decided it wasn’t just a good morning. It was one of the best one he could ever remember.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Rory met him at the front door. The fellow was agitated. He’d been pacing, and it wasn’t a sedate pace. He saw Neal, spun quickly enough to swirl his kilt and raced toward him.

  “Thank the saints! Yer back!”

  “Did you desert your post, young man?”

  “’Course na’, yer grace. My under-footman is handling ‘doo’-ties.”

  “You have an under-footman? Already?”

  “The steward thinks I do a fine job. He promoted me.”

  “I see. So. What’s the problem?”

  “It’s her grace, and—”

  “Why the hell didn’t you say so? Where is she?”

  “Blue salon.”

  “It’s too early for tea. And I’m not exactly dressed for it.”

  And I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth.

  “It’s na’ tea. Laird MacAffrey has arrived. He brought clan.”

  Oh, shit.

  Neal started jogging, Rory at his side. They reached the staircase. Neal stopped. Rory was a step behind. Two of his Honor Guard stood at attention in the shadow cast by the stair’s landing above.

  “Gentlemen?” Neal greeted them.

  “Your grace.”

  Both men said it in tandem. Their head nod was in sync, as well.

  “Do I have a constable?”

  “Aye.”

  “Rory? Do you know who he is and where to find him?”

  “I soon will.”

  “Good man. Fetch him for me. You two. On my six.”

  Rory sprinted for the front door. Neal headed for the double door, his mind racing. He basically needed to go right a lot. The blue salon was on the other side of one of the four fireplaces along the wall of the great hall behind him. It shouldn’t be that hard to find again. And he could always ask one of the guardsmen behind him. Blame his injury.

  But, what the hell could Ainslee’s father want?

  He’d been thinking of a nice leisurely lunch...followed by the same kind of lovemaking session. He hoped Ainslee wasn’t feeling too sore or tender. Because he really looked forward to this. Maybe, they’d spend some time in the dark alcove of his balcony, sponging each other off with the water from his rain barrel.

  Followed by a long, leisurely sup.

  Another round of loving...

  Damn MacAffrey. No matter what the fellow wanted, his timing was atrocious.

  “Your grace?” one of the guardsmen enquired behind him.

  Neal turned about. Both guardsmen had identical looks on their faces. Quizzical.

  “What does ‘on your six’ mean?” the man continued.

  “Oh. Sorry. It’s a modern term for...never mind. Follow me. Closely. About three paces back.”

  Neal jogged the entire way, his heart keeping rhythm with his steps. The sound was echoed by the guardsmen’s steps behind him. The blue salon wasn’t difficult to find. He could hear MacAffrey’s raised voice from down the hall. Neal jumped down the last set of steps and didn’t remember how he reached the door.

  There was a kid standing beside it. Looked to be in his late teens. Lean. No hint of beard growth. Resembled Rory, and the gamekeeper, Cedric. The thought that Neal might employ the entire family flashed through his head and then he discarded it. The kid caught sight of Neal before he reached the door. The under-footman gathered a quick breath and opened his mouth as if to announce the duke’s arrival. Neal motioned for silence.

  “You’ll tell me where she’s gone or—!”

  “Laird MacAffrey!”

  Neal entered the room with a boom, first by smacking at the door to send it crashing against the wall, secondly by using his orator tone. In this small room, it was probably enough to rattle bric-a-brac. Everyone jumped. The Laird of MacAffrey was standing before Ainslee, and the man had an arm raised. He lowered it and spun at Neal’s entrance. Neal walked past him, ignoring him completely, and took a knee before his wife.

  And then he held out his hand.

  He’d seen Ainslee in all sorts of vivid colors. Knew she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Elegant. Graceful. But right now, dressed in a charcoal-shaded gown that matched the hair peeking from beneath a long veil of aged lace, she looked beyond beautiful. She looked positively ethereal. Like an unworldly creature had descended from the skies to bless mortals with her presence. But at any moment, if she wanted to, she’d disappear.

  Neal’s heart scudded when she placed her hand within his. So small. So delicate. He caught her glance and held it. She was pale and might be shaking, but the look in her eyes gave away that lie. Ainslee wasn’t remotely frightened. Neal slid a thumb along her knuckles, lifted her hand to his mouth. Touched his lips to her skin. Rubbed slightly, enjoying the brush of whiskers from his growing beard. And then he lifted his head and addressed her in soft tones, as if they were the only ones in the room.

  “Forgive my appearance, my love. I was out in the field with my gamekeeper
s. I did not know. We were. Expecting company.”

  She smiled. And his eyes watered up. Neal blinked rapidly against that particular affectation. The last thing he needed was to be emotional. Not now.

  Hell.

  He’d thought her father had bad timing.

  “My father arrived...unexpectedly,” she answered.

  Neal cleared his throat. “I see. Well. If you will allow it...may I address him?”

  His query was clearly heard in the silence that had fallen throughout the room. She nodded. Neal released her hand and stood up. Took a deep breath. Straightened his back. And turned around to face her father.

  Neal’s two Honor Guardsmen were inside the room, on both sides of the door. Feet spread to shoulder-width. Lips lifted in matching sneers. Hands on sword hilts.

  Damn. They were impressive.

  Neal didn’t puff up his chest to look bigger. It happened subconsciously with the dose of pride he experienced. A quick glance showed MacAffrey had brought eight men with him. Nine, if Neal counted the heir who was probably still in the throes of puberty. They were all smaller men. They didn’t look like a band that wanted a fight. Even if they were about to get one. Neal looked down his nose at Ainslee’s father. Spoke with his orator voice.

  “Well. Laird MacAffrey. To what. Do I owe. The displeasure of your visit? Unannounced. And uninvited.”

  “Me daughter’s run off.”

  “Lileth?”

  “I only have but one more daughter.”

  “Hmm. I see. What I don’t see is why this event in your household brings you into mine.”

  “I’ll na’ allow her to abort me authority.”

  The man’s complexion darkened and he shoved a finger in Ainslee’s direction. Neal regarded him for a long time, making the wait as uncomfortable as possible. He didn’t reply until shuffling sounds could be heard coming from the men about MacAffrey.

  “If you are referring to my wife, the reigning Duchess of Straithcairn. I suggest you use her title. Anything else, I will find offensive. Is that clear?”